Life's A Box and Then You Die!
by Gamma Jack Plasmius
Summary: The short, simple story of a below average man burdened with a life and afterlife bigger than he is.


_Hello. This is my first writing under this cryptic alias, and it shall introduce you to the mysteries in which I write. I shall reveal grand tellings through my words and show how much people change while inadvertently staying the same. _

**Disclaimer**: Butch Hartman owns Danny Phantom and all related characters and gimmicks.

_This is a solitary story about an over-looked character in the Phantom's reality. He deserves to tell his tale and explain what he truly is... _

_

* * *

_

"**The good news about being at the bottom of the barrel is that there's nowhere to go but up."**

_-Unknown _

_

* * *

_

**Life's A Box and Then You Die!**

I can understand them, which is funny because I'm the sort of guy that you'd think couldn't understand anything. I understand why they look down on me the way they do; after all, back during my life I was a doormat; a boob; a grunt who just followed orders and had lost any true will to think for himself.

Ever since I was a kid I was classified as a loser and an outcast; I was short, chubby, unathletic...and weird. All the kids just laughed, teased and humiliated me because I was so, I guess 'inadequate' would be the right word. If there was running, I was left behind; if there was tag, I was always 'It', and if a teacher called on me, chances were my answer was wrong.

My father just made it worse; he was the kind of dad who said things like, "Someone pushes, then you push back!" or "You're never going to amount to anything if you put up with that!" It tore me up, as those were the few 'family moments' I had with him. Dad was never around, you see. He was too caught up in his job and his adult social standing with his big buddies to really pay me much notice. His idea of giving me baseball practice was dropping me at little league games and then driving off to work overtime. Truth is I don't know if he worked for Mom and me, or if it just made him happier than we did.

Mom was probably the only thing that kept me from running away, not that it would've made a big difference in the end. Dad wanted her to stay at the house and clean and cook all day while he brought home the bacon; he said it'd be easier that way. I didn't understand it then, but now I see that it wasn't to make it easy on her; it was to make him fell superior; to give some leverage over the family.

I remember the look in her eyes that she'd have so many days when I got home from school; like she was just on the edge of breaking down and crying. Because she was trapped, and the only one who could set her free was Dad, and she knew he'd never do that. She could've gotten a divorce, since any neighbor or relative could tell a judge how miserable she looked, but she would never do that. You know why? Me. It's almost funny how ironic that is; I was staying home and in school for her and she was staying home and staying with Dad for me. And as much as I hated my father for making us like that, I have to thank him for one thing: he brought my mom and me closer than I'd ever thought possible.

* * *

_Vengeance darkens the soul, and love cleanses it._

_So what do you do when you don't know which to listen to? _

_

* * *

_

All right, laugh now, or just nod your heads and say, "That's no big secret," or "Kinda figured that," because I never had a girlfriend when I was alive. I died pretty young, mind you, but still it's embarrassing. But strange enough, it didn't bother me while I was alive; all I cared about then was trying to pull my grades up and spending time with Mom, so I didn't have time and didn't care for anything else. Making her happy was what mattered, which is really what my dad should've been doing, but he'd gotten even busier over time; not so much with his job, but with going out with his buddies after work, more and more. He'd get in around ten at night; grab some leftovers and then head for bed. He wasn't my dad anymore; he was just some guy who lived in my house.

But the further away Dad got, the closer I got to Mom. I got a part-time job; making sure that it wouldn't interfere with our mother-son relationship, and I'd buy her some flowers for the house and the odd evening I'd take her out and we'd have a great time talking about each other. We'd laugh so hard we'd cry, and eat so much we'd get sick, and we were happy. We knew that, truthfully **we** were our family, and we didn't need anybody else.

* * *

_I was the father figure in my family_

_The one who surrendered that position was as much a ghost as I am now... _

_

* * *

_

I graduated with decent grades, not 'smart-smart', but enough for what I'd need, and I didn't need much. In the time I'd spent with Mom, I'd told her that I wasn't going to take a permanent job that would tear me away from her; I'd never leave her alone like Dad did. It meant that I could never have a real important or high-paying career, but I was willing to give that up. I needed her more than any amount of money or a flashy title.

I took up some work in construction along with a little bit of storage management, too. My work area was close in town, so I didn't have to worry about Mom. I thought Dad would be angry about it, since he was Mr. Important Career and Lord Respect, but he didn't even seem to notice, and that suited me just fine; we hadn't needed him or his inputs for a very long time.

I had that job for about three years before it happened. I barely made enough to keep up the rent on my apartment and pay for food and the odd thing for Mom, but I didn't mind. That was probably the happiest time of my life, so I guess it was all too fitting that it had to be cut short.

I was checking inventory in one of the warehouses; walking between the shelves and checking off the different odds and ends on a clipboard, when I heard a crash. Louie, one of the new guys, had been moving some of the bigger crates with a forklift when he'd lost control of the machine. He shouldn't have been allowed to drive it yet; he was still too young, not that it matters now. He had veered off his course and collided with one of the shelves in front of me. The force knocked the shelf down and created a domino effect that began knocking down all the other shelves behind it. And guess where I was? I didn't even have time to run before the shelf I'd been looking over came down; I was crushed in a second.

* * *

_A human life takes at least nine months to create, but only a second to destroy..._

_Am I the only one who sees a problem here? _

_

* * *

_

There was no pain, lucky for me, which is more than can be said for Louie. The poor kid tore himself a new one after the accident; I saw him as my ghost came to almost immediately, though not yet strong enough for anyone to see. I saw Louie drop to his knees and just stare at the wreckage, and at my lifeless, battered body, almost invisible as I was under the mess of shelves and bric-a-brac. Then he just collapsed completely and started crying.

In that moment I felt sorrier for that kid than I had for anyone, even my mom, and I never thought that could be possible. The other workers had to drag Louie out of the building and drive him home; he was so miserable. But he came to my funeral, and I was grateful for that; it sure couldn't have been easy. Mom was there, too, of course, and so were some neighbors, aunts, uncles, cousins and some of my old co-workers, but not Dad. You wanna know where he was? Three guesses.

The look I used to see in my mother's eyes, the one I told you about where she was about to cry, well, that one was nothing compared to the agony etched into her face and the withheld tears finally flowing down. When I saw her like that, I wished that I had crossed over right then and there; I couldn't bear that my death had caused her that much pain.

After the funeral, Louie met with my mom; he told her that it had been his fault and that he knew he could never make up for what he'd done, but would be there to do anything if she needed it. I hoped that Mom wouldn't make it worse; that she wouldn't crack and scream and blame the poor kid, and she didn't. She just stared at him for a moment and then hugged him; she started to cry again and then he started to cry, and secretly, so did I.

That night, while my dad was still out, I went to see her; I showed myself as a ghost. I told her that everything would be fine, and that, all things considered, I'd be all right. The only thing I asked of her was to get to know Louie; after all, she needed someone to talk to. I explained why I couldn't see her, and she understood; it would be too hard on both of us.

_

* * *

_

_Those who rejoice in others' fear_

_Are those who are plagued with it themselves_.

* * *

After that, I considered a lot of things: Should I cross myself over? Should I stay a ghost for a while and see what this type of life (Ha, ha!) has to offer? Should I seek out other ghosts and try to establish my own ghostly standing? The questions just kept pouring into my head. Then, against my better judgment, I did something that I hadn't done in years: I went to see my father at work. He never saw me, mind you, but you know what I mean.

By the time I found him it was after hours and he was at a bar with his buddies; laughing it up about some sport or event on the TV. It was strange to see him; I had really just seen him a couple of days ago, but he seemed so different now for some reason. He wasn't drunk, not yet, anyway. He was definitely getting there, but he wasn't quite under the influence yet.

I watched as the bartender poured him another and then turned to my dad with a somber expression and said, "Hey, man, I read about your son in the newspaper; sorry for ya."

My dad chugged his drink, grunted, and then asked for another one, like it hadn't even registered in his brain what the bartender has said to him. I wasn't angry, not really; I'd given up caring about him and his thoughts a long time ago, but it did settle my earlier debates.

If I just lied down; if I just went to rest and let that be it, I'd be no better than my old man who'd given up on pretty much everything, save his job and binge drinking. So I decided to keep at this new existence; enjoy myself and make up for what I couldn't or hadn't had in my old life. Not to sound selfish, but I felt that I owed it to myself as I had had to grow up so fast; that's fair, right? 

So make fun of me; push me around, lock me in a Thermos, but I'll beat it. And hey, maybe they're all really right about me; maybe I am just some below-average dope who got sucked into something bigger than he is, but that doesn't matter now, does it?

For no matter what happens- **I AM THE BOX GHOST! BEWARE!**

* * *

And there you are; I suppose many of you guessed from the title who this was, but I hope I deceived at least a few of you in the process. Anyway, please R&R and I'll leave a reply pour vous. 


End file.
